Turn One: "Amazing Drives"

When it comes to most things in life, I admit that
I’m a bit of a traditionalist. Call me old-school. I
like my vodka unflavored, my “Star Wars” without
Jar Jar, and my mouse with only one button.

Recently, I spent some time with the latest, all-new
Porsche 911, and I fully admit that I entered the drive not
wanting to like it. Yes, it looked like a 911 and still had a
flat-six hanging behind the rear axle, but that Panamera-influenced
interior wasn’t winning me over. Real 911s
have a stick shift poking up from the floor, not a center
stack filled with a few dozen knobs, buttons and sliders.

Guess what? I’m an idiot. The latest 911 is one of the
best cars that I have ever, ever driven—so good, in fact,
that it got me thinking about other life-changing drives I
have experienced:

Mazda Miata: The best car ever pieced together by
humankind? Yeah, maybe. End of debate.

Acura Integra Type R: If the Miata is at the top of the
heap, then the Type R has to be the best front-driver ever. It
marries Honda’s perfectly benign chassis with an insane
redline, brakes that could stop the rotation of a small
planet, and that wonderful Torsen diff. It’s like driving an
air-powered impact gun.

In fact, this car made such an impact that I asked Honda
if I could buy our test car from their fleet. Sadly, I was told,
it was a preproduction example that would eventually have
to be terminated.

Porsche GT3: Adapt that Type R rawness to the Porsche
911, and you have the GT3. Sure, the GT2 and Turbo may
be faster, but nothing else sounds like a GT3. That shriek
is somewhere between a TIE fighter and a Tasmanian devil
hopped up on meth.

I’d totally rock an earlier 996-chassis GT3, too. Every
time I get Panorama, the Porsche Club of America’s official
pub, I check the going prices. They seem to hover around
$49,999. That’s a chunk of change, but I bet in just a few
years we’ll reminisce about when a GT3 cost less than a
one-bedroom L.A. apartment.

MGA: A lot of you probably don’t know this, but I’m
lucky to serve as chairman of the board of the British Motor
Trade Association, a group that serves the businesses
dedicated to the British car hobby. Between that and my
duties at Classic Motorsports magazine, I can speak a
decent amount of British car.

There are a lot of traditional British sports cars out there,
but the MGA has a special openness. It’s part sports bike,
part British motorcycle. The Miata may carry the torch today, but the English originals still have that special smell—a
mix of Castrol, leather
and dampness. If you
ever happen upon a
British car day, see if you
can at least slip behind
the wheel of an MGA.

Jaguar XKE: Speaking
of British cars, the
original supercar also comes
from that land across
the pond. Last time I
visited Carl Heideman,
I took his early XKE for
a spin. You really owe
it to yourself to bum a ride—not necessarily in his, but in anyone’s.

The XKE is just the definition of classy, from its pursed lips
to the rows of toggle switches that punctuate the interior.
Then there’s ride: smooth, composed, ready to pounce, yet
supple enough to deliver you to work. Make mine British
Racing Green, please.

Fiat 500: Carl also owns one of these—and I’m talking
about the original 500, not the newly minted one. Carl
described this one best: It’s a four-wheeled moped. Oh,
and it has a non-synchro gearbox, meaning every gear
change is a bit of an adventure. Like many of the cars on
my list, it’s all about the journey, not setting the lap record.

Dodge Viper: The first time I approached a Dodge
Viper, I got my calf a bit too close to a hot side pipe and
wrenched it away—nice to see those reflexes work, huh?
In the process, something popped inside my knee.
After lying in the grass waiting for things to return to
normal, the Viper and I had another go at it. The speedometer
was flinging toward the three-digit zone, but the
tachometer was barely climbing—I figured the tach was
broken. Then I realized something: The Viper’s immense
V10 engine wasn’t like anything else—it built power by
its own rules.

Consulier: Before joining the magazine staff, I
read the somewhat damning reviews of Warren Mosler’s
Consulier in the buff books. It was crude and not fully
baked. Someone criticized it for having too many cigarette lighters.

Soon after coming to the mag, Warren let me borrow one
for what was billed as Florida’s first import drag race. True,
Consuliers came from Florida, but
for whatever reason, it was welcome—the turbocharged
four-cylinder was at least in the right spirit.

My first run staged me against a Honda Prelude—
remember, the import scene was still wearing diapers.
He got the jump, and I simply buried the throttle. I beat
him to the finish line by seconds. So I came to a stop and
waited. After all, I didn’t know how to get off the drag
strip. Someone had to show me the way back to the pits.

Volkswagen Kombi: Ever drive a VW bus? I imagine
that the Goodyear blimp delivers a similar sensation
regarding acceleration and handling. Like all air-cooled
VWs, though, it’s about the experience, not the max performance
numbers. Mark, my college roommate, had a
bone-stock 1967 Bug when we met. Back then, that was
just an inexpensive car. One day I’d like one just like his,
down to the totally lackluster exterior almond hue.

My Own Porsche 911: I love it when the naysayers
start beating up on the original Porsche 911. It’s just an
overgrown VW Bug. The engine is at the wrong end. It
doesn’t have a proper cooling system.

Know what? It’s a sports car. It’s not supposed to make
any sense. If you can’t find joy in near-telepathic steering,
an amazing view of the road, and possibly the world’s
best exhaust note, turn in your sports car club membership
right now.

And that, my friends, is why we drive, love and collect
these silly cars—for the fun. So what cars changed your
outlook on life? I’d love to hear your list. Just drop me
a note at david@grassrootsmotorsports.com.